The Corsican Brothers | Page 2

with which, should an opportunity offer, he might rid
himself of an enemy.
It will be well, however, to inquire if the domestics are not poor
relations of the master; this sometimes occurs, in which case they
consent to accept for their services one or two piastres a month, with
their board and lodging. And don't believe that the masters who are
thus served by their grandnephews and cousins in the fifteenth or
twentieth degree, are more carelessly served for that. No such thing.
Corsica, it is true, is a French department, but Corsica is yet very far
from being France.
As for thieves, they are unknown in this country, but there are bandits
in abundance; they must not be confounded with each other. Go
without fear to Ajaccio, to Bastia, a purse filled with gold, hanging
down from your saddlebow, and you will travel over the whole island,
without having been exposed to the shadow of danger.
But do not go from Occana to Levaco, if you have an enemy who has
denounced you as the object of his vengeance. I would not answer for
your life during this short journey of two leagues only.
I was then in Corsica, as I have said before, in the beginning of March.
I had arrived there from the island of Elba, had landed at Bastia, and
bought there a horse at the price before mentioned. I had visited Corte
and Ajaccio, and was now traveling in the province of Sartene.
The same day I went from Sartene to Sullacaro; although the distance
was not great, I had to travel about ten leagues, on account of the
windings of the road on a prominent point of the principal line of
mountains forming the back-bone of the island, and which I had to
cross. I had also provided myself with a guide for fear of getting lost.

At about 5 o'clock we arrived at the top of the hill which overlooks
Olmeto and Sullacaro. Here me stopped for a moment.
"Where does your signoria intend to take lodgings?" asked my guide.
I cast my eyes upon a village lying at the foot of a hill, and which
seemed almost deserted; a few females only appeared in the streets,
walking very fast, and looking carefully around.
In consequence of the hospitable custom of which I have spoken before,
I had but to make choice of one among the hundred or hundred and
twenty houses which composed the village. I sought to discover the
dwelling which seemed to offer the best chance for comfort. My eyes
rested upon a square, stone mansion, built like a fortress, with
machicoulis, a sort of iron grating, before the windows. This was the
first time I had seen these domestic fortifications, but I must also say
that the province of Sartene is the classical ground of the vendetta.
"Ha! very well," said the guide, following with his eyes the direction of
my hand, "we will go to Madame Savilia de Franchi's. Very well--very
well, indeed; your signoria has made a good choice, and I see that you
do not lack experience."
Let me not forget to mention that in the eighty-sixth department of
France, the Italian language is constantly spoken.
"But," said I, "is there not some impropriety in going thus to ask
hospitality of a lady, for, if I understand you right, this house belongs to
a female?"
"Without any doubt," answered he, quite astonished, "but what
impropriety can your signoria suppose there could be in so doing?"
"If this lady is young," replied I, from a feeling of propriety, or perhaps,
excuse me, of Parisian self-esteem, "cannot my presence at night under
her roof expose her to observation?"
"Expose her?" answered the guide, evidently trying to give some

meaning to this expression, which I had Italianized with the usual
importance which characterizes us Frenchmen, when we conclude to
run the risk of speaking a foreign language.
"Ah! certainly," exclaimed I, beginning to feel a little impatient; "this
lady is a widow, is she not?"
"Yes, eccellenza."
"Well, will she be disposed to receive a young gentleman at her
house?"
In 1851 I was thirty-six years and a half old, and I took great pleasure
in giving myself the title of young gentleman.
"If she will receive a young gentleman?" repeated the guide; "well,
what difference can it make to her, if you are young or old?"
I saw that I should get nothing out of him by this mode of questioning.
"How old is Madame Savilia?" said I.
"About forty."
"Ah!" exclaimed I again, always pursuing my own ideas; "that is very
well indeed. She has children, no doubt?"
"Two sons--haughty young gentlemen."
"Shall I see them?"
"You'll see one of them--the one who lives with her."
"And the